I’d known this interview was airing tonight. I’d even considered telling them. But what I hadn’t expected was the exquisite, karmic poetry of Kyle’s public humiliation of me just moments before. I reached for my wine glass with steady hands, though inside I was vibrating with a satisfaction so pure it was almost dizzying.
“Mom…” Brena’s voice came out as a croak. “That’s… that’s you on TV.”
“Yes, dear. It is,” I said, taking a slow sip.
Kyle had gone an interesting shade of green that clashed terribly with his expensive Christmas sweater. The same sweater I’d noticed still had the $500 price tag artfully tucked inside the collar, a classic Kyle move. I wondered if they’d put it on a credit card they couldn’t afford.
“But… you never said anything,” he stammered, his earlier confidence evaporating like steam from the forgotten gravy boat.
“You never asked,” I replied, my voice calm and even. “In fact, if I recall correctly, your exact words last Thanksgiving were that my ‘little hobby’ was cute, but I should focus on finding ‘real work.’”
The reporter’s voice droned on. “Thompson’s success story began during the pandemic when she lost her teaching job after 30 years…”
Lost my job. They made it sound so simple. They didn’t mention the nights I’d stared at the ceiling, my life’s work gone, terrified of a future filled with substitute teaching and food stamps. I hadn’t shared those fears with my family. Why burden them with an old woman’s problems?
“The platform started with just 12 students,” the TV continued. “Now it boasts over 50,000 active learners and has generated partnerships with major craft retailers worldwide.”
Fifty. Thousand. Students. I let that number hang in the air while Kyle struggled to process a new reality where I wasn’t the family charity case. This was the same man who’d suggested just last month that I consider moving to a senior community because maintaining a house was “probably too much for someone your age.”
